Change of Luck
by anxioussquirrel
Summary: Once upon a time, two strangers met in New York. They only spent twenty-four hours together, a day and a night that neither of them would ever forget. One mistake, two broken hearts, three years later...


**A/N: **_This story is a result of cooperation with an amazing artist, Volsura, during Reversebang - it was inspired by art she created. I can't link to her art here, but go, find her on tumblr, under username __volsura__._

_Also, I feel I should put a warning here - there's character death mentioned in the story, and I was mean enough to make Kurt's life harder that even Glee writers did. But then I gave him a happy ending._

_And I'm sorry if there are any words sticking together left - I don't know why, but the system here does that :(  
_

* * *

**CHANGE OF LUCK**

1

Kurt Hummel, junior flight attendant currently aboarda plane from London, stretched wearily before grabbing the tray with a tumbler of amber liquid. _Seat 8A_, he murmured to himself, glancing in the mirror to make sure his hair was still perfect and his purple tie straight. Everything had to be in order for his first foray into the plushy world of first class passengers. At barely five months on the job,he'd never been allowed there – his area was economy; crowded, loud and hardly classy. But he had to pay his dues first to graduate to the nicer tasks – which, it seemed, he was slowly getting to at , one of the older girls, asked him to take the drink to a distressed passenger.

Walking easily and gracefully despite the slight turbulence, Kurt madehis way towards the first class compartment. They still had three hours before landing in New York, and they'd just entered a thunderstorm area. It wasn't bad, but the sight of lightning bolts zigzagging through the pitch black sky outside tended to make people anxious. Not Kurt; he loved storms – he loved _weather_ in general, in fact. High winds, rain, thunder… they made him feel alive.

The man in 8A quite obviously didn't share Kurt's attitude. His hands were fidgeting nervously, hisdark hair looked as if he'd run his fingers through it repeatedly, and he was tapping his foot in a rapid beat while staring through the window. Kurt spoke in a soothing voice, obligatory smile on his faceas much a part of his uniform as the black vest and white shirt.

"We're perfectly safe, sir. There's no reason to worry." A slight turbulence hit right as Kurt was reaching forthe drink, so he focused on keeping the tray steady. "Here's your –"

The words died on his lips when he glanced back up, where the man had already turned towards him. The glass slipped from his suddenly numb fingers.

_That face_.

The face of a man who'd come into Kurt's life only for one day, years ago, and took his heart away. The face that Kurt had never been able to wipe from his memory, aching at the very thought of what he'd lost because of his own stupidity. He remembered every tiny detail, from the eyes the color of the whiskey in his hand, eyelashes long and thick, through the dark stubble (he could still feel the rough catch of it on hisbare skin now), to the sinfully shaped lips. The man's hair wasn't gelled down as heavily as it had been back then, some curling softly by his temples and falling on his forehead, but even so, his face was impossible to forget. Irreversibly connected with the most beautiful memories of Kurt's life –and with the most painful heartbreak.

One he only had himself to blame for.

Somewhere, a glass was tumbling to the floor, spilling Jack Daniels all around, but Kurt didn't wait to see it fall. Ignoring the curious stares, he sped back to the kitchenette and hid there, his heart pounding so fast it made him dizzy and breathless. He huddled on the floor, breathing into a small paper bag and trying to stop the panic from rising any further.

Blaine was _here_.Now what?

Blaine Anderson hated thunderstorms. It wasn't a phobia, not really; he just felt uncomfortable with all the audiovisual effects, the awareness of so much electricity around, the way the air was charged and made the hair on the nape of his neck stand. If he was safely at home, storms didn't bother him – he just put on some music or a movie and ignored them. But now, with the lightning and thunder just on the other side of a thin metal wall, _way_ too high above ground to feel safe, it was hard to stop the anxiety from crawling under his skin.

His foul mood didn't help the matter either. Two weeks in London visiting his boyfriend who was on a six-month scholarship there did nothing to fix their relationship. It was clear to him that the effort was useless from the minute Mark picked him up at the airport, bitchy and irritated at so many small things that Blaine couldn't help but think that the real reason was his arrival. If he'd been wiser, he'd have broken it off right then and gone back home the next day; he'd have listened to his instincts telling him there was nothing to rescue between the two of them and maybe never had been. Instead, Blaine had spent the last two weeks in a constant state of guilt and frustration, only to be dumped at the airport. At the freaking _airport_, five minutes before boarding the plane. Ugh.

And now the thunderstorm, too. _Dammit_, he really needed to calm down – where was the whiskey he'd asked for?

As if on cue, he heard the clinking of ice cubes in a glass, and then a calm, melodious voice.

"We're perfectly safe, sir. There's no reason to worry."

Blaine's heart seemed to stop. He knew that voice, he'd recognize it anywhere. But it couldn't be… could it? No, it was surely a mistake – ? Gathering every ounce of courage in his suddenly frozen body, Blaine turned his head.

_Oh_.

The flight attendant standing beside him was tall, lean, and _gorgeous_. Sea-colored eyes. Brown, carefully styled hair. High cheekbones. Toned arms in a well-fitted white shirt. That _face_.

_Kurt. _

Time slowed down until the world seemed like a frame-by-frame movie. Kurt's brows furrowing as he focused on the glass in his hand, still smiling. His eyes flicking to Blaine's face. Recognition flashing, quick as the lightning and equally devastating. Kurt's face going white, panic tensing his features.

And then he was gone.

There was something cold on Blaine's leg, a small commotion around. Someone was saying something to him. He was answering even, but inside, he was paralyzed. Kurt, here. He couldn't believe it.

Another flight attendant – the girl he'd talked to earlier – appeared in a hurry with a new glass of liquor and paper towels to help clean him up. She was apologizing profusely.

"I'm _terribly_ sorry, sir. My colleague is quite inexperienced still, he obviously needs some more training. Please, let me give you the address to send the receipt for your dry-cleaning. We'll cover it, of course."

Blaine couldn't care less for his whiskey-soaked pants.

"Is your colleague alright?"

A hint of concern appeared on the girl's perfectly controlled face before it was covered with a fake smile.

"He'll be fine."

After she was gone, Blaine drank his whiskey in one go and settled back into his seat, his eyes closed and the raging storm outside forgotten. What did he care about the weather when _Kurt_ was so close? The man he hadn't been able to get out of his head for the last three years. The enchanting boy who, after less than 24 hours, owned his heart and soul in a way no one else after him could, not even Mark.

Would Kurt disappear again now? Would he be gone as soon as they touched the ground, leaving Blaine nothing but more false leads to chase after?

Would he even follow them, after all this time?

That one was easy: of course he would. He would try every available way, for as long as necessary, until Kurt himself told him to stop. Until Blaine heard from Kurt's own lips and saw in his eyes that he'd imagined it all, years ago. That Kurt didn't feel the same way Blaine did. That they didn't fit together like puzzle pieces, like two halves of a whole, two souls that lost each other at birth and had been searching ever since. Because cheesy as it seemed, that was how Blaine felt.

Half an hour later, Kurt sat in the tiny break room, much calmer, but still unsure what to do. Here was the moment he'd kept hoping for ever since he'd made the second biggest mistake of his life, three years ago.

But hoping, even praying for this sometimes, to any god or goddess that might have been on duty right then, was one thing – having it actually happen was another entirely.

He wanted nothing more than to get back into Blaine's life and never leave again, but what if it had all been his imagination? What if for Blaine it had all been just a nice adventure, a one-night stand following a pleasant day in New York with a stranger he fancied? Despite the feeling that he knew Blaine as well as he knew himself, Kurt was fully aware that he could be deluded. God knew it had happened before, though never to this degree. He could be making a complete fool of himself if he went up to the man and tried to remind him who he was.

And even if Kurt _had been _right, and all the words whispered into his skin on that hot, humid August night were true – and if they were _still_ true, after all this time – then what? What could he tell Blaine?

"Hello, I know I lied to you about everything I was, but I love you?"

* * *

2

_Three years earlier_

It was barely dawn on the Sunday when they first met.

Kurt was sitting on a bench in one of the more deserted sections of Central Park, enjoying the last day of complete freedom before starting his new full-time job at a coffeeshop. He'd found this spot two weeks before, during one of his first all-day walks through the city, and he'd been coming there every few days since. There was a calming sense of impossible familiarity there, a vague resemblance to a picnic spot he remembered from his childhood – one where he'd been going every spring and summer with his parents, back before his mom had died.

Before both of them had.

For all he knew, the place wascompletely different, but the feeling was there. And right now, Kurt needed every good, soothing feeling he could get to fight the impression that the world was coming down on him, shutting him in a trap, away from his dreams and all alone.

Of course, it was natural to feel this way, he was telling himself over and over again. After all, he was about to really start living as an adult now. Moving to New York, sharing a tiny apartment with two of his friends, applying for jobs and getting to know the city by himself were all big steps, but they were somehow easier, manageable. Rachel and Finn had been doing the same for the last two weeks, at least when they weren't in their bedroom, making Kurt blush and put on his music loud enough not to hear anything through the thin walls. The difference was, _their_ next big step was starting their classes in their respective colleges.

Kurt's was starting a job to pay for his part of rent, food and basic needs, while saving whatever he could in hopes to start studying next year. Instead of going to coffeeshops with new friends to study, talk or simply hang out, he'd be working in one, full time, looking in on the college life he was supposed to have.

It wasn't fair.

Of course, life was hardly fair. He knew that better than most. Orphaned by his mom at age 8, then by his dad at 17. Gay in Lima, Ohio. Bullied all through his school career. No close friends, no one to really, truly understand him. And once luck had finally seemed to be in his favor – he'd nailed his NYADA audition and gotten accepted to his dream school – it was only to be pushed down from up higher. Because no matter how he'd tried to convince himself otherwise, he simply couldn't afford college.

With the hospital bills from all the months his dad had spent in a coma before he died, even selling the house and the garage left Kurt with barely enough to survive for a few months on his own. There were scholarships available for students in his situation, but with the emotional rollercoaster of having insane amounts of money to pay back, selling the place where most of his happy childhood memories were born _and_ the first anniversary of his dad's death, Kurt simply hadn't realized that the deadlines for applying had come and gone. In June, when his world wasn't spinning around him so much anymore, the only option left for him was a student loan. And having owed, albeit briefly, hundreds of thousands of dollars had taught him one thing: he never wanted to be in debt again. _Ever_.

So no college for him, since his chances for full ride scholarships were gone – not until he earned enough to get him through the first year of school. Then he could study hard and show them just how good he was. Hopefully he'd finish the year as one of the top 5 students in the school, in which case NYADA would cover his tuition for the next academic year. With enough drive and persistence, he could make it all the way through college this way. And he was Kurt Hummel. Drive and persistence were practically his aliases.

Besides, he had no other choice, really. He couldn't count on anyone else – he had no close family willing to pay his way, and Carole, his dad's girlfriend, had given him a lot already, taking care of him all of his senior year when no one else had stepped up. He couldn't be a burden to her anymore, and she had Finn to think of anyway. There would always be warm feelings between them, and she was like family to him now, but Kurt had to deal with money issues on his own.

He'd decided to go to New York anyway, exhausted with the majority of Lima population treating him like he was a leper just because he liked boys instead of girls. Nothing kept him there, not anymore. And it might be easier to find a job in New York. Maybe life would be better. Maybe keeping his dreams and goals in sight, right there on Broadway, would help him stay motivated and inspired. Because right now, Kurt was just tired and discouraged.

Every time, _every single time_ before, he'd gotten up and kept fighting, no matter how much shit life insisted on throwing his way. But having to give up NYADA felt like a final blow and his strength was wavering at last. Still, he kept trying, if only because of his stubbornness.

For the last two weeks since he'd arrived, Kurt had let himself enjoy New York without the burden of a job and worrying about surviving. It had been his little vacation before real life began. Today was the last day of it, and he started it early, here in his favorite spot in Central Park. Sitting on a bench, enjoying the early morning sun with only some joggers passing by every now and then, he was trying to dig up some remaining bits of hope and optimism to help him keep fighting. But it was hard. There he was, in New York, the city he'd dreamed of for years, but nothing was the way it was supposed to be.

Sighing, Kurt reached in his bag to take out his journal and a pen. In the first week after his dad's heart attack, when everyone still believed that he'd wake up any moment, Kurt started to write down everything – things he wanted to tell his dad when he woke up, old memories that resurfaced as he'd been sitting by that bed hours at a time, plans for when his dad got better. After all, life couldn't be that cruel and let him lose his only remaining parent, right? Not after the last words they exchanged were in anger.

It turned out life had no problem with being cruel.

Week after week, as hope was wearing thin and everything kept getting darker, Kurt wrote – the tiniest bright points of his day; lists of reasons to hold on and not give up; dreams he could look forward to, no matter what. Some days, this was the only thing that kept him – just barely – from crumbling.

Today, he was doing it again; creating a safety net with his words, reminding himself that he could do it, he was Kurt Hummel and he would succeed, no matter what. Maybe if he wrote and read it enough times, he'd believe it again.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone settle on the bench to his right, but he didn't pay them much attention. As long as they weren't loud and obnoxious, Kurt didn't mind company – he just kept writing and minding his own business, so as not to encourage a conversation. However, after a while he couldn't help noticing the person turning to look at him with increasing frequency. So much for the solitude then.

Kurt looked up properly – and his eyes widened. The boy sitting on the next bench was turned towards him again, and he was _gorgeous_. Around Kurt's own age, tan and handsome with his eyes warm brown and his dark hair slicked back in a neat, old-fashioned style, he was wearing red pants with a black polo shirt, and a _bowtie_. The second the stranger caught Kurt's eye, he smiled bashfully, got up and came a few steps closer, stopping at a non-threatening distance. When he spoke, his voice was warm and smooth, like dark hot chocolate.

"I know, it's terribly bad manners to stare. I'm sorry. It's just, you're perfect." The boy blushed slightly, which looked stunning against his olive skin, and chuckled self-consciously. "And now you probably think that I'm some creepy stalker. I'm not, I swear! Though I bet every creepy stalker says that. But maybe… would you let me invite you for coffee? I know you must be getting offers left and right, but –"

Kurt caught his jaw from dropping at the very last second. No, he _wasn't_ getting any offers like that – never had. In fact, this was the first time anyone had ever tried to hit on him (primitive "flirting" by a certain closeted Neanderthal in high school did _not_ count) – and what an amazing first time it was! His spirits lifted instantly and he straightened a little, glad that he'd decided to celebrate the end of his "vacation" in one of his favorite McQueen outfits that transcended time, so it didn't matter that he'd bought it two years ago, back when things were so much better and he could afford designer clothes. Closing his journal, he smiled at the other boy.

"I could use some coffee. I'm Kurt, by the way." He extended his hand and the boy took it instantly, with a wide grin.

"My name is Blaine. So… do you know any good coffeehouses around here? I just arrived last night and had no time to look around yet."

"Sure." There was one not far from here that Kurt had fallen in love with at first sight. It was cozy and inviting, with big soft armchairs and loveseats in the corner booths. The coffee was delicious, too. Of course, he wouldn't be able to afford going there often after his "vacation" ended, and working as a barista, he'd probably want to be away from coffee in his free time anyway, but in the last two weeks he'd indulged his caffeine-addicted self a few times there.

The short walk to the coffee house was filled with Blaine's chatter as he tried to prove to Kurt that he was _not_ a creep. Kurt found it hilarious how hard Blaine was trying to convince him when he was pretty sure he had nothing to worry about from the minute he looked at the other boy. He'd met creepy before and his instincts were well tuned, thank you very much. Blaine didn't activate any alarms whatsoever. Still, Kurt was curious about him, so he let him talk without interrupting.

It turned out that Blaine was older than Kurt, a 21-year-old music major in Chicago. He'd come to New York for a week because he'd never been there before and wanted to finally have a chance to experience it before classes started again. He knew no one in the city and he had comealone.

"I tend to be a terrible travel mate, you know, because I always want to see _everything_. I mean, what's the point of being in new places if you don't use your time as fully as you can, until you feel the city in your legs and see it in your dreams at night? Most people get tired of it after the first day, so I've learned my lesson and travel alone now. This way I can do whatever I want, no one cares if I want to walk through New York from dawn till dusk and then spend every evening on Broadway. I can sleep when I'm back home."

Kurt decided that while it sounded like he could be a perfect travel mate for Blaine, saying it out loud would be way too forward.

"Okay, enough about me," Blaine laughed when they settled on a small red loveseat, facing each other. Their coffee was steaming on the table, its aroma rich and invigorating after the early morning walk, and Blaine got them bagels for breakfast, too. Kurt was trying not to put too much meaning into their seatingarrangement. It was simply easier to talk here, closer than if they'd sunk into the deep armchairs with the table between them, but he felt his heart flutter at the proximity anyway. This was what he'd dreamed of during his lonely evenings in high school, when everyone around seemed to be falling in love and getting together – just someone to really _see _him, a kind, smart boy to have coffee dates and movie marathons with, to hold hands, and maybe kiss at some point. Someone to like who'd like him back.

They'd never come.

Of course it was just his luckhe'd meet someone like this – a boy who'd taken his breath away from the very first moment – now, when he no longer had anything interesting to offer. Back in high school, he might have been bullied and alone, but he had talents and prospects, and even his closet was full of the latest fashion accessories. Most importantly, he'd had a future. Now? He had no family or even a place to call home anymore. Instead, he had a coffee shop job, a small amount of money in his account and shattered dreams that he could barely hold together.

Suddenly aware of the prolonged silence, Kurt realized that Blaine was looking at him with an uncertain smile, his head tilted a little to the right.

"I'm sorry, I got distracted," he admitted, blushing. "What were you saying?"

A flash of disappointment on Blaine's face was like a bucket of cold water, and Kurt berated himself mentally – here he was, having coffee with a gorgeous boy, and instead of enjoying it, he was wallowing in misery. Enough. He had one last day wherehe was free and the master of himself. He'd use it well, take every good thing it had to offer. He had nothing to lose after all.

Blaine said, "I was just asking you to tell me something about yourself. I'm sorry, I must be boring you – I'm sure you have more interesting things to do with your time."

"No! No, you're not boring, I'm just a bit distracted today." Kurt tried to reign in his emotions; he didn't want to sound too eager, too inexperienced, too... well, _Kurt_. He was sure Blaine wouldn't want to spend any more time with him if he learned the truth. And he needed this one last good day of freedom – if only so that he could remember it months from now, when heavy hopelessness of long winter nights inevitably threatened to swallow him whole again.

This was the moment when Kurt made what he'd later know to be one of the worst decisions of his life, shadowed only by that morning almost two years ago when he argued with his dad about the importance of Friday family dinners.

He lied.

"Well, I'm a sophomore at NYADA, it's the –"

"The New York Academy of Dramatic Arts, only the best school for those destined for Broadway! Wow. So you're not just beautiful and nice, but madly talented as well. How is it to study there? Tell me all about it!"

And Kurt did. He told Blaine about the freshman year courses, all the information from the websites and brochures that he'd basically memorized during the months since he'd first sent his application out. He embellished the stories with anecdotes about some of the professors that he'd read on the NYADA students' and candidates' discussion board when he'd perused it almost obsessively after getting his acceptance letter. He knew it all, everything he might have needed; for so many months he'd dreamed of finally coming here, for something to just go right in his life for once. He had a whole fantasy of how it was going to be, complete with his first small role in an off-Broadway musical his sophomore year.

He just released the fantasy now; let himself become that boy he ought to be, that he had every right to be. Just this one day. Who could blame him for wanting to be happy for one day?

Blaine listened to him with bated breath – laughing at the right moments, shaking his head incredulously, commenting with wit and humor, asking additional questions, and before Kurt knew it, he was in over his head.

Soon, their cups were empty and Blaine got up to bring them more coffee. They kept talking – about music, about singing, about dreams and plans and memories; about high school experiences and hardships of being out in small towns – and with each "I know what you mean", each "exactly!" and "I thought I was the only one who saw it that way", Kurt felt more like he'd found a kindred spirit. He kept being vague, always two steps away from facts that could say too much about the sad reality of his life, but already he felt unease tug at his insides, his instincts telling him that he was making a mistake.

But it was too late to change anything now, even if Blaine seemed more and more like a personification of Kurt's dreams about a perfect man.

They left the coffee house at last when they realized that over three hours hadpassed and they were nowhere near ready to say goodbye. Kurt offered Blaine a tour of Broadway, which was accepted with enthusiasm that warmed his heart and made his blood bubble with joy.

_Wanted_.

He felt wanted and admired and appreciated, and the heady feeling was making him bold and daring like never before. Here he was, sharing his extensive Broadway knowledge with someone who seemed as fascinated with it as Kurt was, who drank up every word from his lips like it was precious. And not just a random someone, either – a hot, beautiful boy who, for some reason, was interested in _him_. It felt like Blaine was that one ray of sunshine that the universe decided to send him to sweeten the tough deal he'd been given.

If only for a day.

But he would take everything this day had to offer, no holding back. He would squeeze it out like a lemon, getting every last drop of _good_ out, and soak in it, to hold it close to his heart and in his memories and relive in hard times that were bound to come.

Which was why, when Blaine asked him over lunch if he was single, Kurt smiled a shy, sweet smile and nodded. Why he agreed enthusiastically when Blaine asked, his face hopeful, if he maybe wanted to spend the rest of the day together, show him his favorite spots in the city. Why, when Blaine touched his hand while they were walking through busy streets, unable to stop talking, Kurt took it and didn't let go for the rest of the afternoon.

Why, after he sang for Blaine in the early evening, sitting under an old, large tree in Central Park, he didn't question the compliment about being the most interesting, beautiful, talented boy Blaine had ever met. Kurt took it to store it in his memory forever, along with the kiss that was offered, but not demanded. He leaned into the sweetness of Blaine's lips and his embrace, let himself get lost in his first kiss – the first that counted – and came up for air minutes later thrilled, breathless and very possibly in love.

Which was not to say that he wouldn't do these things anyway if the circumstances were different. He would; what he was feeling for Blaine, as fresh and sudden as it was, wasn't some sort of desperate grasping for life he could have had – at least Kurt was pretty certain it wasn't. He wished he could have met Blaine in other circumstances, get to know and love him slowly, have time and space to grow closer, get to really know each other at a safe pace, be together.

But he couldn't have that.

So Kurt allowed himself more than he usually would – more than he'd ever thought he'd be comfortable with so early on, and he did it without a second of hesitation; with desperate hunger for life and love, instead.

He said _yes_ when Blaine asked him shyly, as if afraid to push his luck, if he would go to dinner with him. _Yes_ again when Blaine ordered wine to their meal. And finally, when Blaine, stumbling over words and flushing adorably, suggested they could go to his hotel room – "just to, you know, spend some more time together, nothing more has to happen, I'm not like that, Kurt, I've never..." – Kurt shut him up with a kiss, took his hand and went.

There were more _yeses_ that night, each one given freely, with eagerness and delight as they wanted more, learned more, took more. Kurt knew that his time was running out, that dawn would break the spell, and he refused to lose even a second of it. From the moment they tumbled into the room, unable to keep their hands and lips away from each other, through undressing each other with greedy fingers, hungry for the closeness that only bare skin could provide, through showering together and touching, kissing, tasting – they were insatiable, chemistry sparking between them like fireworks.

And when somewhere so late that it was actually early Blaine whispered, quiet but so clear in the morning stillness, "I want you, Kurt, want you in me, you, no one else", Kurt didn't even hesitate, though the mere thought of anal sex scared and paralyzed him just yesterday. Now he ached for it, and he slipped into Blaine with his fingers and his cock and his heart, and there was love in the air that night, hot and humid and feverish, like the world was coming to an end. They both felt it and they whispered, said, moaned it into each other's skin like a promise, an enchantment, the words that should have been enough to hold their worlds together, but weren't.

They were each other's firsts. They were soulmates, best friends, loves of each other's lives – potentially. It was all there, the seeds of it, only needing time and space to grow and blossom.

It didn't change anything as Kurt slipped out of the bed at five, whispering the last _I love you_ into sleeping Blaine's ear, dried his tears, got dressed and left without leaving a note, a number, anything.

Head held high, heart broken but somehow stronger, he entered his coffeeshop two hours later to start his training and his real, adult life.

* * *

3

_Present day_

Blaine spent the rest of the flight hidden safely behind his closed eyelids and his iPod headphones. He didn't want conversation with any of his suddenly talkative neighbors, he just wanted to think. _Needed _to think, or he'd burst with the sudden hurricane of emotions and memories that one look at the handsome flight attendant had brought.

Of course, he was no random flight attendant. He was the man who'd given Blaine the most magical 24 hours of his life, followed by the deepest despair he'd ever felt. It was safe to say that Kurt had made Blaine _feel_ things, and feel them to the extreme. And now, by some divine (or maybe cruel) coincidence he was here, on the same plane, high up in the sky, with nowhere to escape. For a crazy moment, Blaine's overloaded brain seriously considered hijacking the plane only to make Kurt talk to him before they landed – because he was absolutely certain that the minute they'd touch the ground, Kurt would disappear again. His panicked face had told Blaine as much.

And Blaine couldn't let it happen, not this time, if only so that he'd get to ask _why_. Maybe he'd find some closure, some peace if Kurt told him that it had been just a game, an acting exercise maybe, or a dare he'd made with friends. Or that he just liked to break hearts, got some kind of thrill out of it. Anything, including that what he'd said he felt wasjust as untrue as every solid fact about himself he'd given Blaine. It would be better than the eternal uncertainty and incomprehension he'd lived with for the last three years.

Living in a dream for a day, finding what you thought was the perfect man, only to lose it all without explanation the next morning was so much worse than never getting the taste of what it could feel like. Maybe if he'd never have met Kurt, never realized what it felt like to love someone from the very first moment, to know it was _right _and _true_ – maybe then he'd have been able to be happy with Mark. Maybe he would have learnt to overlook the cracks and the blandness of their relationship, and fight harder, sacrifice more. Be satisfied with what he got.

Shaking off the bitter thoughts, Blaine pushed his brain towards more productive paths: how could he find Kurt when he got home? What tricks and contacts could he use to learn more about him, now that he knew he worked for these airlines? Because so far, he hardly knew anything.

Three years ago, he'd woken up in his hotel bed after unquestionably the best night of his life, aching in ways that made him smile with memory of long walks and physical exertion, and activities that were new and more amazing than he'd believed possible, only to find Kurt gone without a trace. It was during these first hours, when he'd still hoped for a knock on the door, a phone call, a message, that Blaine had realized just how little he actually knew about the man he felt like he'd known forever. No last name or date of birth, nothing about where he'd come from apart from the fact that it was a homophobic small town, which could be anywhere. No current address or phone number, because they'd had no need to exchange those yet. And knowledge about that moon-shaped little birthmark right on Kurt's hipbone really didn't help anything.

During the next days Blaine had run out of the facts he'd thought he'd had about Kurt, every single one a dead end. There was no Kurt at NYADA, he's learned from their way too naive secretary. The theater Kurt was supposed to be working at had never heard of him. Neither had the coffee shop where he said he was a regular, or the hairdresser he was supposed to be almost friends with. By the end of Blaine's stay in New York even the finger-shaped bruises on his hips – tiny marks,indelibly connected with the memory of Kurt's angelic face in delight and awe, his voicebreaking over Blaine's name, high and breathless – marks that were the only tangible evidence of Kurt's existence, faded away, leaving him empty-handed and wondering. Sometimes he almost doubted that day and night had really happened.

For weeks and months afterwards, even when Blaine no longer walked around like a zombie or felt like he had broken glass inside his chest instead of a heart, when he'd gone back to studying and practicing, throwing himself into his college work like a madman, he would still periodically drop everything for a day or two and search. He was obsessed with finding Kurt. The internet's possibilities kept him hoping for over a year. Facebook, Twitter, Broadway and NYADA chatrooms, Google images – he'd been getting more and more desperate. Still, nothing. Kurt was like a ghost.

And then Blaine had met Mark.

In all the time that had passed since that night, Blaine had questioned everything, including his sanity, but never his feelings. He knew what he'd felt with Kurt. He still felt it with unwavering certainty. It sounded absolutely crazy, but Kurt was the love of his life. Still, dreams and memories don't make you less lonely. So when Mark had tried hard to get his attention, Blaine caved. He was good-looking, interesting and Blaine liked him a lot. Life went on; Kurt wasn't coming back. It was time to move on.

Except Kurt's shadow had always been there, invisible, but leaving no doubts, by comparison, as to what Blaine didn't feel for Mark. This couldn't end well.

And now, in a single day, Mark had left him and out of the blue, he'd met Kurt again. If it wasn't proof that fate existed, Blaine didn't know what was. He fully intended to do everything in his power to talk to the man that had been plaguing his thoughts and his dreams for so long.

* * *

Kurt got back to work after a short break, but he stayed away from serving drinks and confined himself to the safety of theeconomy class compartment for the rest of the flight. There wasn't much to do for most of it, so while staying back andhelping with small, routine tasks, he could freely mull over the decision of what to do. He knew it was an extraordinary chance, life giving him one more shot at the happiness he'd felt for a fleeting moment, years ago, and missed ever since. His heart had no doubts; anxious and excited in equal measures, it pounded and sang and pushed him to go, explain, apologize, _try_. Try and see if the void that his actions had left in his life, the one that no one had ever been able to fill, could be healed in spite of everything after all this time. But his rational mind whispered poisoned words about ridicule and shame, and soiling beautiful memories with harsh reality.

What helped him decide in the end was something his father used to tell him so many years ago: _It's better to try and regret it than regret that you haven't tried._

* * *

4

Blaine knew it was unlikely that Kurt would be the one standing by the door when they landed, and he was right. But it was the girl who brought him his second drink instead, so that made it easier to explain anyway.

"Excuse me, how could I get to speak with your friend? You know, the one who um... spilled the drink?" Okay, it didn't come out right.

The girl was clearly wary, even under the mandatory friendly smile. "He's been reprimanded, sir, and he's sorry. If you wish to file a complaint, you can do so by phone or email. All the information is on our website."

"No, no, it's not about that at all, I just wanted to talk to him. Could you maybe just give me his name or a way I could contact him?"

Her pretty face was still a mask of helpfulness, but there was an almost hostile edge in her voice when she answered. "I'm sorry, sir, it's against the airline policy. Please move on. I hope you had a nice flight."

Blaine nodded, thanked her and went. It was no use insisting; he'd have to try other ways. Fortunately, he now knew where Kurt worked. He thought of his plan while walking through the jetway. By the time he reached the terminal, he already knew what to do next. He'd look through the airline website first, maybe they had a section presenting their flight crews. If not, he could email them to ask about Kurt, saying that he wanted to thank the helpful flight attendant for something – maybe he'd get a contact address or at least a last name. He could call their information line, too, or look through discussion boards, or –

"Hello, Blaine."

Or see Kurt waiting for him by the terminal door.

He was so certain that Kurt would run again, for whatever reason he'd had in the first place, that seeing him now, real and waiting for him, was a shock that rendered him speechless for a moment. His face must have looked blank because Kurt blushed, his voice stuttering a bit.

"Um, you probably don't remember me. I'm –"

"_Kurt_." He couldn't stop himself – didn't want to try; the next instant Kurt was in his arms, warm and solid and so very real, and Blaine's senses remembered immediately. It felt like he'd held him like that just yesterday. He whispered coarsely. "I've been looking for you forever."

No matter how cheesy it may have sounded, it was the truth. Years had passed, and Blaine still startled when he saw people vaguely similar to Kurt on the street; still felt his heart clench whenever he went to see a play on Broadway and instinctively looked for Kurt on stage and off. He still saw him in his dreams so often that he could probably call him an imaginary friend by now.

It was as if Kurt was waiting for it – for reassurance? confirmation? – because his arms circled Blaine's waist now and held tight, as if he never wanted to let go. Blaine relaxed into the embrace, stunned and incredulous and happy – and concerned when he heard Kurt's breath hitch and felt moisture seeping against his temple. He loosened his hold to look the other boy – _man _now – in the tear-filled eyes.

Kurt tried for a watery smile, but it faded almost immediately, substituted by misery so heavy that Blaine felt his heart crack a little.

"Kurt, what's wrong?"

A choked, broken sound escaped Kurt's lips and he took a few deep, steadying breaths before he could speak, his voice wavering anyway. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you, I'm sorry I left like that, I'm sorry –"

Blaine hugged him close again, his hand stroking Kurt's back in little circles. "It's okay, we're both here now, it will be okay..."

He really, _really_ hoped it was true.

It took a few minutes before Kurt's shoulders stopped shaking and his breathing grew even, but Blaine was more than okay with standing like this however long, despite the curious glances from people passing them. But even those weren't that frequent – it was an airport; emotional scenes were a natural part of this place.

Finally, Kurt pulled away and sniffed slightly, Blaine immediately fishing a Kleenex out of his pocket and offering it to him. Kurt smiled as he took it.

"I'm sorry, I haven't even asked if you don't have a transfer to catch or some place else to be."

Blaine hurried to shake his head. Nothing was more important than meeting Kurt now, and certainly not his empty apartment.

"No, I'm just going home, and no, I'm in no hurry. I live here in New York now."

He saw Kurt's jaw drop a little at that. "For how long?"

"Two years. I've decided to come here for my Master's."

Kurt shook his head, his eyes wide, and Blaine felt another wave of emotion sweep through him. Kurt was here, he didn't run and he looked even more beautiful than when they'd first met, no longer an ethereal-looking teenager, but a man now, his chest wider but his whole frame just as lithe, themuscles of his arms filling the sleeves of his white shirt. Suddenly he realized that they could find a better place to talk than a terminal entrance. Plus, he should probably move on to customs soon.

"I know it's late, but could we get out of here and go sit somewhere? Grab a coffee, perhaps?"

Kurt looked around as if he, too, had forgotten where they were, then stifled a yawn.

"As much as I don't want to say that, I'd probably fall asleep on the table. I've crossed the Atlantic twice in three days and I'm exhausted. I always crash after this shift, so –"

"No, of course, I understand." It was hard to keep disappointment out of his voice, but Kurt grabbed his hand.

"– _so_ maybe, if you don't have to go right home, we could go to my place? I want to talk to you. I _need_ to talk to you, and this way, if I crash, I'll be close to my bed."

Blaine grinned so hard he might have pulled a muscle. "Yes! I mean, I'd love to go and talk. If it's no bother to you, of course."

"_Blaine_. I wouldn't offer if it was. Come on." Kurt made a move to go, but Blaine stopped him.

"No, wait. One more thing first. Give me your full name and phone number. I'm not going to let you vanish again."

Kurt laughed, biting his lip in the most adorable expression of self-consciousness Blaine had ever seen. He dictated his number to Blaine, who immediately saved it to his phone, and added, "It's Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, if you insist on knowing my _full_ name."

Blaine raised an eyebrow and smiled. Then he called the number to make sure he had it right, but he got a generic voicemail. Kurt fished his phone out from the bag on his shoulder and switched it on. "Try now."

The phone rang this time and Kurt saved the number before putting it back in his bag. "Shall we?"

* * *

5

The cab ride passed in silence, as if they both just realized the enormity of their meeting and needed to come to terms with it. Blaine knew he did, at least. Kurt – well, he might have just been tired, judging by the frequency of his yawns and his drooping eyelids. At one point his head dropped onto Blaine's shoulder, rendering him immobile, afraid to move and disturb the achingly perfect familiarity of Kurt's presence.

Kurt sat up immediately when they stopped and only then was Blaine able to look away from theface that he'd missed so much, and through the window at their destination. He looked – and let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. Kurt looked at him, aquestion in his eyes.

"We are maybe a ten minute walk from my apartment." He shook his head. "I've been looking for you everywhere, and all along, you were right here, walking the same streets, shopping at the same stores. I can't believe we've never crossed paths."

Kurt squeezed his hand, his voice a little breathless as he spoke. "I still can't believe you searched for me."

The driver cleared his throat and that broke the spell. They paid – Blaine insisted on covering the whole sum, but Kurt would have none of it, so they ended up splitting – and then took their bags and went up the stairs to Kurt's third floor apartment. Kurt paused before opening the door, his face a bit anxious.

"It's tiny, and probably a bit shabby for your standards, but it's home."

The apartment really was small, just a living room with a kitchenette, a small bedroom where nothing beside a bed really fit, and a bathroom. When they stacked their suitcases in the living room, there was barely enough space to move around. Still, the rooms were tidy without a pedantic feel, and truly cozy, with bright walls, books and knick-knacks everywhere. There were no photos or art on the walls other thana framed _Wicked _poster.

Blaine went to wash his hands and face after the long flight and Kurt excused himself to his bedroom for a moment to change from his work uniform. He usedthe bathroom on his way back and then joined Blaine in the living room wearing comfortable yoga pants and a simple white t-shirt. His hair was mussed and he smelled pleasantly of soap.

"Coffee? Juice? Water? I'm afraid I don't have anything else."

"Juice will be fine."

Kurt took the three steps to the kitchenette and returned with two high glasses of orange juice. He sat beside Blaine on a small but comfy sofa, the size of it bringing them close, and sighed.

"So. I owe you an apology."

Blaine cut into his words. "Kurt, you don't owe me _anything_. Do I want to know why you disappeared? Yes. But I don't expect explanation. I just... I would really, _really _like for you to be in my life. In whateverway you want, just here. I still... I know it may sound strange after all this time and considering how long we've actually known each other, but I meant every word I said back then, Kurt. I still do."

Kurt looked at his own hands, but Blaine heard the tears in his voice anyway. "I did too. I mean, about what I felt. The rest..." He sighed deeply. "I do owe you an explanation so that you can make a fully informed decision if you still see anything interesting in me."

Blaine wanted to protest, say that no matter what Kurt said, he would feel the same, but he understood that Kurt needed to let this out. And he did want to know. He stayed silent, but took Kurt's hand in his, a silent support. Kurt's voice was emotionless as he started.

"My mom died when I was a kid, my dad in my junior year of high school. He'd spent several months in a coma because I refused to pull the plug, so the medical bills ate all the money that we had and a lot we didn't. When I learned that I got accepted into NYADA three years ago –" Seeing Blaine's surprised look, Kurt nodded. "Yeah, I wasn't a sophomore. I would have been a freshman if it didn't turn out that after selling the house and my dad's garage, and paying off all the debts, I had hardly any money at all. No family to help, too late to get a scholarship... I came to New York anyway, if only to escape the dreadfulness of Lima, Ohio."

Blaine stiffened. "Kurt... I'm from Ohio too. Westerville. We grew up two hours from each other."

Kurt stared at him, bewildered, before he shook it off and continued, his hand in Blaine's holding tighter now.

"The day I met you was my last day before starting full time work. I was resigned to start a mundane, uninspired adult life, nothing like the dreams I had. And then you came, the boy straight from my fantasies, the perfect ray of sunshine. I just wanted my one last day of youth and freedom to be happy. So I lied to you, because if you knew how boring I was, with my failed life and my coffee shop job, you'd want nothing to do with me. And by the time I realized I wanted you in my life for so much more than a day, it was too late. You already saw me as the character I created. I couldn't have admitted I lied, could I? And I'm so sorry, Blaine. Walking out of that hotel room was like tearing my heart out of my chest, but I know I hurt you too and I'll understand if you go out of here and never contact me a– _unf_."

Whatever else Kurt wanted to say ended up muffled by Blaine's chest as he hugged him tightly, kissing his forehead, his temples. _God_. Over the years, Blaine had thought of countless hypotheses explaining Kurt's disappearance. A boyfriend. Reluctance to get emotionally attached. Even drugs or problems with thelaw. So what he felt right now was in equal parts relief, heartbreak for Kurt's pain and incredulity. Finally, he moved his hands to Kurt's shoulders and looked in his eyes.

"You silly, crazy man. You really think it would have mattered? I don't care about your education or your job, I fell in love with the brilliant, witty boy with a sharp tongue and intelligence that kept me on my toes all along. With the gorgeous creature wholooked like an elf, moved more graciously than I'd believed possible and laughed in a way that made my heart sing. It doesn't matter if you're in college and on a Broadway stage where you belong or if you make coffee for a living, I love you, Kurt. _You_, the way you are. I did then and I do now."

Tears were flowing freely down Kurt's cheeks now, and Blaine felt himself choke up too. They lost so many years over something so small... He leaned back against the armrest and pulled Kurt with him so that they half-lay on the short sofa. He kissed the tears off Kurt's face, not reaching his lips yet, and felt him relax against his chest. After a while, he asked,

"So what happened after you left? How come you are a flight attendant now?"

Kurt sighed. "I came to New York with a plan to save for college and start at NYADA a year later, two at most. It didn't happen. Coffeeshops don't really pay that well, so even when I was living with friends from my high school, I wasn't able to save much. And then they got married a year later and started hinting about having the place for themselves, so I moved out. Carole – that's my stepmother-would-have-been, my dad dated her when he had his heart attack and she took me in for the rest of high school – anyway, she mentioned she'd read an article about the reality of flight attendants' work and suggested I could try. It pays much better than being a barista... And here I am. If nothing changes, I may be actually able to finally start at NYADA next fall."

Kurt sounded sad and tired when he finished and Blaine ached with a need to comfort him somehow. He ran his fingers through Kurt's hair, the way his mom used to when he was a kid, and Kurt hummed and angled his head for more. He looked like a cat wanting to be stroked. Blaine needed to know one more thing.

"So there's no special man in your life right now? No one I need to quietly dispose of before I get to kiss you?"

Kurt inhaled sharply at the last words, then tried to cover it with a small laugh. "No. I tried a few times, but it never felt right when I still remembered how it was with you. How about you?"

Blaine silently thanked Mark – "Single" never sounded so sweet.

Kurt's voice was a little husky, his breathing shallow. "So... what were you saying about kissing?"

They fell into each other and it felt like coming home, like heaven and a summer morning after a night storm, like every perfect thing Blaine could think of. They kissed and kissed, and then kissed some more, and only when Kurt's mouth went a little slow and sloppy, his head getting heavy on Blaine's shoulder, did Blaine realize just how exhausted he must be. He pulled away; they would have tomorrow. And the day after. They had time, now, the miracle of time together.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

Kurt opened his eyes and sat up reluctantly. The little pout on his face and his sleepy eyes shot a wave of tenderness through Blaine like he hadn't known before.

"Mm, no, I'm fine. I don't want to say goodbye to you yet."

"We can meet in the morning." He didn't want to say goodbye either. Ever. But Kurt needed sleep.

Kurt's eyes were closing again. "No, don't go," he whined. "Can't you stay until morning?"

Blaine's heart sped up. He wanted nothing more than to stay, but –

"I could, but are you sure?"

Kurt could barely open his eyes anymore. He wasn't joking about crashing. "Yeah. Just... hold me?"

"I'd love to. Come on then, off to bed with you, mister."

He helped Kurt get up and led him the few steps to the bedroom wherehe proceeded to flop on the bed like a ragdoll.

"Do you sleep in your clothes? Should I bring you your pajamas or something?"

Kurt tugged at his waistband in a weak attempt to pull it down. "Mm, pants off. Then sleep."

Smiling to himself, Blaine pulled off Kurt's pants – he'd never known how innocent and simply caring this act could be – and then pulled the covers from under him and tucked them around him instead. Kurt hummed happily and snuggled into the pillow.

"I'll be right with you; I'll just get a little freshened up." Blaine went to take a quick shower, brush his teeth and put on fresh boxers and a t-shirt before switching off all the lamps and climbing into bed with Kurt.

_He was in bed with Kurt_. And it wasn't a dream, this time. They were here, together, they got their second chance. And Blaine knew he'd do _anything_ to use it well.

Kurt, though fast asleep, rolled into Blaine's arms the moment he lay down. Falling asleep has never felt so good.

* * *

Kurt woke up, feeling rested and relaxed, everything warm and comfy around him. The light filtering through his eyelids let him know it was late morning already, but Kurt had had such a lovely dream that he didn't feel like opening his eyes just yet. So he didn't, just wiggled his hips to try and relieve a little of the discomfort that the more intimate parts of the dream caused. Maybe he should get himself off...

But the moment he moved, he realized that he wasn't alone. And it didn't happen often, and not at all in the last several months and dear god did he drink last night? What did he do? And with whom? No, wait, he was still dressed and there wasn't even the tell-tale discomfort of dried come in his briefs, so maybe he didn't do anything much?

And then –

"Good morning, love."

Kurt opened his eyes, his heart already swelling and remembering, disbelieving but ready to take off and fly. And there he was.

Amber was the most beautiful color in the world.

THE END


End file.
